


Faint Borders

by kijitsune



Category: Axis Powers Hetalia, Hetalia - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Nineteenth Century, royal au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kijitsune/pseuds/kijitsune
Summary: Ongoing / On holdFor as long as the world has existed, it has been split up into kingdoms, interspersed throughout the seas of this planet.And not every kingdom can prosper.No smut, I just don't do that, sorry! :^(





	1. Of Stoicism and Social Exertion

Nobody really held out much hope that King Ludwig would be in his right mind today. He would not converse how a monarch should, not entertain and not host properly. He would seem distant, unnervingly so. His words would come out distorted, and he'd end up smiling apologetically and holding his tongue. It was almost forlorn. He was such a young man, so well built and handsome in face, yet often his mind was scattered and disjointed.

Not only was he a young inexperienced King, he had had to succeed the throne in light of his brother and former King's untimely death. Ludwig's ultimate ambition had been to take the throne, yes, but not now, if that makes sense. He only wanted to when his brother was old and his glory days behind him, when he could rule in peace of mind. But King Gilbert had been so young, only 26. Ludwig, just twenty, had had to quickly fill the position, and had never had a chance to grieve. But he knew that was merely a part of being King. First came his subjects, then himself.

And whilst Ludwig had not been a bad king in the two weeks he had had the crown, and he had a promising future, he was not particularly social. Whilst he could shout in military situations, he found it hard to hold a conversation, he was stoic and abrupt and put people off. He didn't mean to come across as rude, in fact, he had a heart of gold, but the pressure or socialisation jeopardised every sentence, leaving him either stammering or monosyllabic. And in the back of his mind, was the sore pang of grief he felt over his brother, who had raised him so dutifully, who had shown him to hunt and write and lead and doubtless make dirty jokes too. He had never been short of a martyr in Ludwig's eyes. Whilst Gilbert had had his faults, he was decisive and strong and he put people at ease, for all this came at the cost of his narcissism. But really, Gilbert had just been a nice person, and a King with a formidably legendary reign ahead of him. Shouldering his new duties and the searing sadness Ludwig felt was almost enough to drive him mad.

Whatever people said about him, good or bad, and it was generally positive, it was indisputable that there was more to Ludwig than what met the eye.

"My Lord, the guests have arrived." The voice was of Lord Basch, one of the youngest nobles of Neuschwanstein Castle, a cousin of the King and who was of Swiss origin. He was tactical and educated, and quick on a horse too, although incredibly frugal. Ludwig valued Basch as one of his best advisors in spite of his youth.

"I am ready." Ludwig said, pulling on the last glove, a final adornment to his imposing outfit. He sported a cape which dragged to the floor and was hemmed in ermine, which was perhaps not the most practical touch given that it was currently July, and swelteringly hot to boot. Lord Basch dressed more serviceably, head to toe in emerald green. 

Basch took the side exit, as it was up to Ludwig to make a solo appearance to his guests sitting outside on the castle grounds for a summer banquet. As he made his way towards the entrance of the Great Hall, and Ludwig counted to ten, desperate to calm his nerves. The guards tugged at the doors, which didn't so much swing open as they did clunk open. Ludwig exhaled, mustered a smile, and stepped out into the daylight.

There was a round of applause, and he felt sick just looking at the sheer number of attendees. Did he have to make a speech? No one had told him to prepare anything. As King was he expected to just have the words roll off his tongue? Was he to thank everyone for coming? He dithered, before opening his mouth.

"Hello and th-" His voice was barely audible, and Lord Francis, one of his senior (but also relatively young) advisors cut in, striding over and standing next to the young King.

"Good afternoon, dearest citizens of the Western European Kingdom! It is with many thanks that I, of the counsellors and advisors and Neuschwanstein aristocracy, King Ludwig himself and many diligent servants welcome you all to the annual Summer Banquet. May we exchange many pleasantries, have a good time." The Frenchman's voice reverberated, and there was applause. 

Of course, not every citizen of the Kingdom was present. Peasants were, not surprisingly, prohibited. It was strictly nobility. 

King Ludwig shot a smile of gratitude to Francis, who dipped his head. He was then led to his table, at which sat his cousin Lord Roderich and his wife Lady Elizabeta, and Lord Basch and his sister Lady Lily. Francis approached it keenly, and also took his seat. 

"Just to let you know, my Lord, you should make a toast when the servants bring out the food." Basch uttered lowly, and Ludwig sighed, before nodding. "I suppose you are right." 

The guests began to talk, and Ludwig searched the sea of tables, wondering if a certain someone had made it. Lord Feliciano would not have failed to attend such an event imperative to the social calendar, surely? Lady Lily tried to follow Ludwig's gaze.

"Are you trying to see if Lady Isabella is here?" She asked, blinking softly.

Ludwig stiffened, and Francis stifled a chuckle. Lady Isabella was demure yet spirited, of Belgium, a childhood friend of Ludwig's, and also his fiancée. The marriage was arranged, however. 

"Of course he's not. Don't be daft." Elizabeta laughed, taking a drink of wine. Ludwig shifted his weight, looking awkward.

Lady Lily looked quizzically at Elizabeta, who simply exchanged a glance with Roderich, who allowed himself to emit a quiet laugh. 

"No. I was just scoping out who was here." Ludwig murmured, and froze when he saw the lines of servants bringing out the plattered food.

"Scoping out my arse." Elizabeta quipped, and Lady Lily's eyes looked as if they'd pop out of her head. She averted her line of sight quickly down towards the tabletop.

"Note that I do not encourage these ill mannered remarks." Roderich said, not missing a beat, and Francis stifled a chuckle. King Ludwig looked indifferent.

"You hardly knock them at the source either," Basch muttered, and Roderich adjusted his oval spectacles contemptuously. Ever movement and pace Roderich took or made was effortlessly disdainful. Lady Elizabeta was not what one called graceful, and Roderich had in the past commented that her 'every move was a misdemeanour against the notion of class,' - ie. Elizabeta — not one classy lady. Not that she cared.

King Ludwig cleared his throat, and the table fixed their attention on him. But he was somewhere else entirely, his eyes wistful, his mind not at peace. 

"You won't be missed if you spend a moment or with Lady Isabella," Lord Basch leaned over to whisper in Ludwig's ear.

"Like he'll want to spend any more time with her than he has to. He already has practically pledged his life to her." Roderich commented snarkily, and Elizabeta scoffed. "That's what you think about marriage? Matrimony is a curse?"

Roderich looked uncomfortable. "No." He said after a long pause.

"Good. Because you wouldn't have got any better than her otherwise." Lord Francis cut in, and Elizabeta sent him a grin in way of gratitude. 

Ludwig scanned the tables once again, but he couldn't spot any of the Iberian Barons whatsoever. He felt a pang.

"My Lord. I meant to tell you something earlier today." Lord Francis suddenly remembered, and caught Ludwig's drifting gaze. 

"Let it wait." He whispered, and Francis fiddled with his cufflink uneasily. 

Lily watched the exchange, before chiming in with a "The food is coming." It was half a conversation starter and half a cue for Ludwig to make his personal welcome.

As the table began to be dressed in platters of seafood and salads, Ludwig stood up, half hoping everyone would instantaneously train their vision onto him, half realising he would have to fight with his inner anxiety to be noticed. You are King, he thought, you must address your subjects. 

Francis noticed the King's silent plight, and hit his wine glass with his fork, and immediately there sounded a hush. 

"I hope.. that you all.. feel well received here.. at N-Neuschwanstein Castle," he struggled. 

"The past f-fortnight has not been.. an easy one.. I hope you recognise.. dear friends and subjects.. but I hope.. although you cannot remain impervious to the recent events.. that you enjoy today.. as ever b-before." His vision blurred and he tried to compose himself.

"I feel an extraordinary level of humility k-knowing that so many of you pledge allegiance to me and the W-Western European Kingdom and whilst I have said it before.. I would like it to be known to you all again." He dipped his head, and sat down with an emphatic sigh. The applause of the guests never made it past the barricades of the fog sealing Ludwig's mind.

"Please eat." Francis murmured, and nudged Ludwig's plate, which was sparsely decorated with a few pieces of food. 

Ludwig nodded. "I am." He grunted, and Francis sighed, his hair falling over his face.

"I noticed the Kirkland Clan made an appearance." Elizabeta then remarked after an uncomfortably long silence. She paused to sip at her wine, before casting a glance in the general direction of the aforementioned group, comprised of the uptight Earl Arthur and his vaguely ethnically ambiguous - what with their Germanic and Oceanic influence - younger brothers and sister - Earls Christian, James and Peter, and the young Countess Wendy, from the colonies of New Zealand and Australia. Lily looked as if she wanted to make conversation with them. She was the youngest at the table at fifteen, her adoptive older brother Basch three years her senior. Earl Peter was twelve and Countess Wendy fourteen. 

"Shame they did." Francis commented sarcastically, and Elizabeta rolled her eyes. "You and Art's interactions always make for solid entertainment." She protested, and Francis turned round to stare Arthur down, who was usually meant to sit at the same table as Francis, after all, he was one of Ludwig's senior advisers and courtsmen -not to mention the castle's sorcerer -too. Arthur was a strange individual who preferred books to people and did not suffer fools gladly.

"He's kind of obliged to sit with those colonial kids. They do not really belong here. Reckon they're going ask for their independence soon and will just up and leave." Basch commented quietly, twirling his spoon in his shrimp broth. 

Ludwig cleared his throat. "I suppose after this meal we will retire to the warmth of the drawing room?" He asked Francis, who looked uneasy.

"Not quite. There has been a dance arranged. And I highly suggest to the point of commanding you to that you dance with your fiancée." He said, and Ludwig said nothing.

"I can't dance, Francis." The young king rebuked. 

"I'm sure Lady Isabella has noticed. It doesn't matter. We'll jump that hurdle when we get to it." Francis assured the King. 

"But really.." the king tailed off. 

"I can't dance either but at Roderich and I's wedding we just served more than ample booze so nobody really minded." Elizabeta chirped.

"I'd say I remember, but the hangover the day after saw to that." Francis jested. 

Ludwig sighed emphatically, and pushed away his mostly full bowl of broth as the servants began to clear the table. 

The meal finished and the court entertainment began, but Ludwig was oblivious. The sounds of the fiddlers and the guitars were an inaudible rhythm. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop unassumingly.

"My Lord, you have barely greeted your guests personally. I suggest you make conversation." Basch prompted as the tables were cleared and the nobility rose, to dance, to drink, to gossip. Ludwig supposed he was right, and he tightened his cravat, repositioned the way his cloak fell and set off purposely in Lady Isabella's direction.

"I despair. But you do well at your job. You have a promising future. Look forward to it." Francis murmured to Basch, who nodded emphatically. Then he narrowed his eyes and scrutinised Francis's face. "Flattery won't convince me to allow you to dance with my sister." Basch said, not missing a beat.

"No?" 

"No."

Lady Lily suddenly materialised - or so it seemed - next to Francis, and beamed up at him. "I would not mind dancing with you." She teased, with a contrastingly innocent smile. "You are but a handsome eligible bachelor," she added, Elizabeta sniggered from where she stood a little ways off.

"If I took a drink of wine every time somebody assumes Francis is single, I'd be rolling on the floor, effectively comatose." Elizabeta whispered to Roderich, who allowed himself a smirk.

"Consider it absolutely forbidden." Basch said through gritted teeth to Francis, who rolled his eyes. "You can't forbid her from courting." 

"Perhaps not, but I can forbid her from courting you." Basch replied, sniffing contemptuously. Francis remained unaffected by his cutting words.

Meanwhile, Ludwig smiled wanly and caught Isabella's attention. She broke off her conversation. 

"My Lord." She said sincerely, in way of greeting.

"Please, Bella. I'm still Ludwig to you." 

"No you're not, you're my king." Isabella stated, her eyes kind.

"Two weeks ago I was Ludwig to you." 

"Two weeks ago you were not king." She protested.

"I'm going to be your husband, damnit! I am Ludwig." He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "It should hardly change things between us when you are going to be my queen." 

"That's all very well, but as of now, I am your subject." Isabella grinned, and then curtsied. "See?" She said, her eyes glinting.

Ludwig studied Isabella. She was so beautiful and charismatic. She blossomed in social situations. The polar opposite to himself. He forgot sometimes she was seventeen, far too young even in the eyes of the court to wed him - certainly in this day and age. It was the nineteenth century now after all. She was his best friend, but his rise to power seemed to only sharpen the line between them, not blur their friendship and romantic relationship. 

"I can see you won't change your mind until I wed you." He sighed. 

Isabella shrugged somewhat. "Perhaps."

"You do want to get married?" Ludwig looked hurt.

"Someday." Isabella fiddled with her necklace, keeping her words cryptic. 

"Do you.. forget it. Dance with me." Ludwig extended a hand towards her and she reached out to accept it, before out of the blue - "Good evening!"

Ludwig snatched back his hand in surprise. Standing between the two was Isabella's younger brother, Lord Louis of Luxembourg. 

Isabella sighed sarcastically, and he grinned. "Pleasure to see you, my king." He said, smiling brightly in a way that made it so you couldn't distinguish whether he was being serious or playing with Ludwig. He went way back with Louis, as he did with Isabella. His most fond memories of their shared childhood often featured a young Louis causing mischief. 

"As is always, pleasure to see you too, Louis." Ludwig smiled a little, breaking his stoic outercasing. 

Louis wrinkled his nose. "Liar. It's not a pleasure to see me. My mother tells me that whenever her gaze so happens to fall upon me she is ever so slightly disgusted. And once when she saw me she actually--"

"Enough." Lord Lars of the Netherlands, a close friend strictly speaking (but no one really got through to the plutomanic properly) of Ludwig's, appeared, clamping his hand on Louis' - his younger brother's - shoulder. 

"He can spin you a tale all right, but that does not excuse being impertinent to your king. Greetings, my lord." Lars said monosyllabically, and Louis shook off his grip.

"Leave me alone~," he crooned, trying to glaze over the situation. "Ludwig does not mind. We're friends, aren't we, King-o?" Louis grinned, and Lars put his head in his hands.

Isabella's eyes glittered. "Lars, Ludwig is our friend. Lighten up." As soon as Isabella had said this, Louis made a quick advance towards one of the candlesticks set out on a nearby side table, and Isabella sent him a sudden diverting death glare. The young Luxembourger scowled faintly.

"Honestly, he is fifteen but acts five." Isabella sighed, and Ludwig found himself warming up to the siblings. He liked the bickering at the juxtaposition of their characteristics when applied to such a situation. 

"Lars, fear not. If Louis oversteps the line I can always call for the executioner." Ludwig said with as straight a face as he could muster.

"Try the jester." Lars replied, not missing a beat. "He will never end up respectable. Laughing stock of the Kingdom."

Ludwig was about to make a self-depreciating joke on the tail-end of Lars' remark, but decided against it. "Well, thank you very much for attending tonight." He murmured, "I trust you still intend to let me wed your sister?" 

"Financially, it would be a mistake to call off the wedding." 

Isabella rolled her eyes. "Brother, you are frugal. He will end up a miser." She and Louis exchanged a furtive smirk. 

"Plus, look at all the trouble Ludwig has gone to for me." Isabella extended her hand, the quartz in her ring glinting in the golden light of the ballroom. "It is a wonderful ring." She beamed.

Louis suddenly looked somber, uncharacteristic for the teenager. "I shall miss having Isabella around the house." He referred to the family's own house, the castle of Frëyr. 

Isabella looked at the ring. It was certainly beautiful, but it still left her unconvinced on the matter. She liked Ludwig and Neuschwanstein castle, but she did not feel prepared for being Queen. She felt young still, unready for commitment.

"It is decided anyway. Isabella is my Queen." Ludwig interjected. Isabella tried not to catch his sight, and released a tiny sigh. Louis studied his sister. He wondered if he would be ready for matrimony in two years time. He wondered if Isabella had realised when she was his age that at seventeen she would be preparing for marriage.

"Of course, my Lord." Lars concluded. Then the group hushed.


	2. Of Cryptic Smiles and Convolution

Mikhailovsky Castle, Russia.

"Queen Felicity!" 

"Raivis?" 

Lord Raivis nodded. "I finally travelled here. We miss you." He smiled meekly. "Feliks."

Felicity stiffened. "You're not supposed to call me that."

"But I've known you so long. You're Feliks." He protested, and Felicitg ruffle his curls.

"But here, I am Felicity. Remember, Ivan does not know." 

Raivis winced at the mere mention of the King. Borderline tyrant. He fiddled with the buttons in the oversized sleeves of his burgundy uniform, edged with amber tassels. 

"I live here now, Raivis. My life is with Ivan. I am his Queen!" Felicity said quietly, and blinked her watery emerald eyes.

"But you're not a girl." 

"I look like one." Felicity shook her head. "We've been through this. The entire kingdom believes I am female. And it's a little late now to suddenly come out with 'Sorry, you're wrong, I'm actually a male, but it's okay, I still expect to have my head intact.'" 

Raivis narrowed his eyes. 

"What's that supposed to mean, midget?" Felicity smirked, picking up on Raivis' rather petite stature. 

"Nothing, nothing. You must come and see Tolys."

Felicity looked somber for a fleeting moment. Tolys. If things had been different, Felicity - Feliks - might have been able to stay with him, the Lithuanian lord. 

"I will. Pining?"

"Like anything. He pines for you, Feliks." Raivis said faintly.

"Felicity."

"Whatever." Raivis shrugged. Feliks shook his head, and his hair fell over his face, his silky locks covering him. He dressed in a pearlescent dress adorned with sequins and velvet, he looked like the Eastern Queen, which he was now. 

"I wish you could stay, Raivis. But Ivan won't want you here."

"I'm perfectly aware." The small Latvian lord concurred, and looked up at Feliks. "But I have business here other than talking with you."

"Really?" Feliks looked incredulous, and smirked playfully. "You're not.. Kat's fiancé?"

Raivis frowned. "No. Plus, I am sixteen. She is far too old. No thanks." Kat was Ivan's sister, a soft individual who rarely spoke her mind. She was often objectified by the men of the kingdom in light of her opulent figure. Surprisingly, she was yet to be married. 

"Well, I'll let you go." Feliks smiled. "Lord Raivis." 

Raivis nodded, even when you considered how long the two had known each other, lawfully speaking, Feliks was his superior, his queen. Raivis scurried off, his small form blending into the shadows of the castle. Feliks felt a pang for the life he had left behind. He had tried to forget the lands of the Baltics, the beauty of his home, Poland. He remembered how and why he had got into the situation he was today. Queen of the Eastern European Kingdom. He yearned for Trakai Castle, where Tolys, a Lord of the kingdom, resided - how long had it been since he had seen Tolys? Months? Too long, in anyone's books.

"Felicity. You're standing there possessed." The voice sounded out of the blue and Feliks jumped.

"Natalya." Feliks greeted her - also Ivan's sister, the princess of the Kingdom. She had long tresses of silvery hair and lavender eyes, she dressed simply in purple cotton and lace, and her laugh was haunting.

"That is my name." Natalya sneered, and folded her arms. "Have you been here all morning?"

Feliks dithered. "It's nothing to you."

"Fair enough." Natalya smiled, but it was distinctly unfriendly. She studied the Polish Queen, certainly she was stunning. Her beautiful skin, her golden hair to her jaw, her slim shoulders framed by her dress. But there was something about her Natalya could not put her finger on.

"Will you go back to whatever it is you were doing before you conducted an interrogation of me?" Feliks asked, his voice slightly sarcastic.

Natalya shrugged, and fiddled with her hair. "Will I?" 

"You are far too wilful for fifteen." Feliks shook his head, feigning despair. Natalya grinned a little, her tongue peeking out as she chuckled. Feliks did not like her.

"Oh, I wonder why - perhaps it could be because I am of royal blood." One of Natalya's running taunts was that Feliks was not royalty. Aristocracy, sure, but not royalty as Ivan was. 

Feliks sniffed, and folded his arms, before pivoting and leaving Natalya laughing at her own joke. 

Feliks scaled the stairs of his favourite turret of the castle, and came out on top, leaning herself against the short walls of the top. From here the view stretched for miles. Feliks felt he could see his home, but of course that was impossible. He felt he could watch the activities of Neuschwanstein Castle from his vantage point.

Feliks would, as a Queen, liked to have initiated an alliance with the West of the continent, but knew it was hugely unlikely. Tensions were high, even if people denied it. Western Europe was losing control of their hold of the world. First they lost the Americas, and maybe soon Oceania. Whilst the East of Europe was bigger, it was denied power. He exhaled. 

Even if she was not royalty truly, he was Queen in name, and his biologically unfeesible children with Ivan would be too. But really, how long could Ivan wait before wanting an heir? And then surely Feliks' identity would be revealed. He shook his head - talking with Raivis had stirred up old painful memories. 

He remembered being at Trakai Castle when Tolys received Russian visitors, looking for a wife for Ivan. Feliks had always worn dresses when in the comfort of his home. And they had caught a glimpse of him. 

"She's the one. If she is aristocracy, that is."

And of course Feliks was.

They had offered too much for him. Feliks had told Tolys it was for the best, exchanging Feliks in return for the thousand gold promised was too tantalising. Feliks promised he would return. And Feliks intended to. His love for Tolys was overwhelming.

The wind ruffled his hair as it swept overhead, and he shivered. The dress was thin, if extravagant. It was only a matter of time, he reminded himself. But if he was found out, he knew, he knew all too well the repercussions.


	3. Of Icy Touches and Baited Breath

Frederiksborg Palace, Denmark. 

"You would think the King of the Northern European Kingdom, shortened or known affectionately as the Nordic Kingdom, would have more refined manners."

This voice was the low, judgemental tone of Lord Lukas, one of the senior aristocrats of the aforementioned Kingdom. 

King Mathias rolled his eyes, and continued to stab his smoked fish with his fork, gripped in his fist like a child. "Nobody tells the King what to do." 

"No, evidently not. If they had in the past, maybe you would be a nicer person." This was the voice of crown prince and heir Emil, who had hair like snow and eyes like daggers. Sitting opposite to him was his actual opposite incarnate, Lord Tino. He had soft blond hair and warm pink tinged skin and was comfortably chubby. He dressed impressively in furs and traditional knitwear, whereas Emil's thin frame was emphasised in a fitted shirt and pants. He chased a piece of spinach around his plate with his knife.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Nordic royalty." Lukas muttered. 

The last of the relatively minuscule clan was Lord Berwald, who was about as tall as four Emils, with a chiselled face and a stern glare, positively terrifying. But he was a nice person.

"You're one to talk. The public barely knows you exist." Mathias interjected, and Lukas narrowed his eyes. He preferred the walls of the palace rather than intermingling with his subjects.

"Leave it." Berwald said, chopping firmly into his fish. "Mathias, you are insens'tive." 

"And Lukas is spiteful."

"'nd you are King, and should not need me t' sort out your spats." Berwald concluded, and Mathias made a face. 

Tino made eye contact with Emil. Both detested and outwardly avoided conflict.

"Why don't we talk about something else?" Tino offered, his voice awkwardly high as he set about patching up the broken atmosphere.

"What, like Mathias' inability to even talk to his own son? He never asks him anything. He makes him feel unwelcome." Lukas whispered to himself, for his own benefit rather than the others'.

"Sorry, what?" Mathias questioned, knitting his eyebrows together. 

"Talk to your goddamn son." Lukas slammed his fist on the table and his tankard of beer juddered. "Don't say something smart, ask him about his studies."

Emil bit his lip.

"Pfff, you don't want to talk about studies, right?" Mathias looked at Emil, who went red.

"Now you're putting him on the spot! Ask him about what he did today, then. Who he talked to, what he read." Lukas said through gritted teeth.

"You know, if you're so interested in me, why don't you speak with me yourself?" Emil said inaudibly. Lucas did not hear.

Maybe Mathias was too young. After all, Emil was fourteen. Mathias was twenty eight. He was Emil's age when he became a father.

"He's got a point. If you want to know, you ask him. Emil and I speak lots, don't we, kid? He's my best friend." Mathias smiled.

"He's your son actually." Lukas said with contempt. 

Tino and Berwald exchanged a glance. Berwald sighed. Every meal had become akin to this. Lucas had got angry or Mathias had got angry and they had bickered, it was stupid. Sometimes Lukas would pick Mathias up on a dodgy ordinance enacted, or a badly held meeting with other kingdoms. Sometimes Lukas would pick at every flaw of the spirited King.

They had always been like this, give or take, but there had been more happiness. They had still been able to joke and take walks together. Now it ended in tears, usually Tino's, who hated the idea of the family breaking apart. Berwald was Mathias' brother, and the two had never got along, but still loved each other.

Perhaps it should have been Berwald who ascended the throne. A year separated him from Mathias. A year in Mathias's favour. 

"Forget it, you're just nitpicking at my relationship with my own son." Mathias snapped. 

Emil shuddered, and Mathias sighed. "Lukas, please. You don't understand what it is like to be a parent, you have no children. Just because I do not hover over his every move does not mean I do not care."

Lukas slammed his knife down on the table, and Tino shook his head. "Too far."

Mathias dithered. He knew he should have attempted to salvage the situation.

"You are barely with him. Tino is a better father to Emil than you are." Lukas added, and then composed himself. "But what would I know? I am no parent."

"You will be one day." Tino beamed, and Berwald looked down at the table.

Tino then gazed at Berwald. "I wish we were parents." He said, and squeezed his hand.

"So soppy." Emil smiled a little, then saw Lukas's face of thunder, and his expression changed drastically.

Mathias pushed his plate away, sighing. "I should retire to my work." He stated wanly, and he downed the last of his tankard. "The West is keen on meeting with us. It will be the first state meeting since Gilbert's death." He drummed his fingers on the table, and Emil stood up, keen to slink off.

"Manners," Lukas muttered as Emil darted off out of the dining room, and he sprinted up away to his chamber. Prolonged socialisation was alien, perhaps oddly so for the crown prince.

"Leave him alone." Mathias whispered to Lukas as he left the table, pulling his shirt sleeves up. Lukas fiddled with his waistcoat, before disappearing separately. "I despair." Mathias murmured to Berwald, who looked indifferent. 

"P'haps Lukas is j'st in a bad mood. D'n't take it too ser'sly." Berwald attempted to console the by now slightly worked up Mathias. For all his kingdom was usually tranquil and austere, the king had a lot on his plate. Berwald did not envy him that. 

"Perpetually so. In a bad mood, I mean." Mathias let another sigh reverberate through him. "Perhaps it should just be the four of us that meet with Ludwig." 

"You, me, Lukas and Tino?"

"Me, you, Emil and Tino." Mathias shrugged, and ran his hands through his hair.

"It's strange they want to meet with us." Berwald said simply, and Mathias did not respond.

"We have hardly any mil'tary." He added.

"Alternatively, Ludwig could be seeking a mentor. A strong Kingdom and a benevolent king." Mathias grinned and puffed his chest out.

"I can't think of a single Kingdom like that." Tino smirked. 

"Well, how about it? Allying with the West." Mathias considered, and Berwald raised an eyebrow skeptically. "That might not be what they are after." 

"It is common knowledge how wealthy this kingdom is," Lukas's voice suddenly punctured the atmosphere. Mathias pivoted and sent him a wary glare.

"You really think they want a stake?" Mathias queried, and Lukas shrugged offhandishly. 

"I wouldn't know. I'm not King." Lukas bared his teeth in a sarcastic smile. Mathias closed his eyes for a moment. Why was Lukas being so difficult?

"You can't actually be hankering after my position too? I've enough on my hands dealing with this kid." Mathias aimed a friendly shove at his brother. Berwald stared blankly at Mathias. Berwald was more mature than his older brother.

"Nothing of the sort." Lukas wrinkled his nose. "Now, I have to attend to your son's studies, because no one else will."


	4. Of Coffee and Apples

"Ludwig, I want to talk." 

Ludwig's eyes met Francis's. "Oh?" 

Francis led Ludwig out of his chamber, where the King had been reading peacefully. The dancing had subsided mercifully and those who were staying had retired to their rooms. Francis stepped quickly, Ludwig realised they were walking torwards the front balcony of the castle. It had always been a magical place. The sky was inky and studded with stars, and Francis exhaled.

"Lord Feliciano will not be visiting this region anymore." He said, trying to perfect the balance of getting it off his chest quickly and saying it slowly enough to soften the blow. Ludwig hesitated.

"What on earth are you insinuating?" Ludwig stammered.

"Lord Feliciano has been restricted from interaction with you and your clan. They.. Ludwig, they know. His advisors, I mean. They found the letters." 

Ludwig's jaw dropped. The letters. Correspondence with Feliciano, the Duke of the Western European Duchy of North Italy, spanning two years. The letters had been disguised, he had refrained from using the royal seal, the return address was not entitled 'King,' or 'Prince.' The letters in which the two had confessed their feelings.

"They decided it was inappropriate to further the relationship between you two. In fact, if you were not King, this could have been dealt with far less sensitively." Francis studied Ludwig. He showed no sign of emotion.

"Dealing it with damn sensitively would be leaving me and him alone. I.." Ludwig shook his head. "We would have had to break it off, at some point, what with Isabella.." he closed his eyes. "Not like this."

"I know." Francis tried to search for something supportive. He fiddled with the flyaway wisps of hair escaping from his ponytail, and sighed emphatically. "Feliciano would have wanted it differently as well." 

"We never let our guard down. I was prepared to devote my heart to Isabella, no matter the pain it would cause me. Because as King it is my duty to ensure my dynasty's succession. As King it is my duty to let go of what holds me back. But I feel the most searing indignation in that my relationship with Feliciano was broken off by an external source." He sighed. "Maybe it was silly. To ever hope I could keep on loving him. No, that is indecent. I will be a married man and doubtless Feliciano is assigned to be as well." He looked at Francis. "Is this a good thing?"

"It makes it easier and harder. It ebbs away at your dignity." Francis shook his head. "It makes me fearful for.."

"I know. You and Arthur." Ludwig made little headway in consolation, but Francis appreciated the gesture.

"A part of me is outraged. Another is sorrowful." Ludwig put his hands over his face and exhaled. 

"Perhaps it is rash however to simply stop you from talking to him. To ostracise you from his territory." Francis murmured contemplatively. 

Ludwig felt like yelling then, but he saved himself. Francis did nothing wrong. It was only the dated regimented practices of his culture that seemed to drive him insane. "It is cold. Please, take yourself to bed." He dipped his head to Francis, who nervously nodded back and hurried off without a second glance. Ludwig pulled his cloak around himself and braced the chilly night air. A King should not be ruffled by something like this when he has pledged himself to a woman already. No, not a woman, a girl. Isabella was too young. Ludwig shivered, for all he was stocky and robust. Something about this evening crept into him and chilled his bones.

He exited, his pace determined as he entered his bedroom, and waved off the servants attending to his nightwear. "I can get it myself." He said firmly, and they disappeared.

In the room adjacent to his slept Isabella. He tried to imagine how she would look asleep, in her nightgown, her hair unteased and spread out on her pillow. But his thoughts drifted astray. He imagined what Feliciano looked like, in his billowy white shirt and his warm chestnut curls and his deepset autumnal eyes and his smile and the way he was so unlike Ludwig, but so perfect. He sighed and covered his eyes. Why couldn't he be like every other king before him, besotted with his wife, dedicated to her? Instead his thoughts of Feliciano were permanently branded into his mind, and thinking of Isabella felt like an injustice to Feliciano, an infringement of his dignity. 

Ludwig buttoned his nightshirt and slid into bed.

**

He arose late the next morning, still vexed. He combed his hair back and splashed his face, and pulled at his cheeks in an effort to wake himself up. Servants laid out his wear for the day and he dismissed them once they were finished dressing him. Pathetic, he thought to himself with spite - the one ruling the Kingdom employs people merely to dress him. He exited the room and tried to compose himself. Settle his mind. Be at peace with the world. 

"My Lord, good morning." Francis greeted, closing the door to his chamber, a book under the crook of his arm. Ludwig said nothing. "Isabella wishes to spend the morning with you. Please, attend to her." Francis didn't take his eyes off of Ludwig, until he nodded complacently. Ludwig supposed it was for the best and set off purposely.

"Out of my way, out of my way, out of my way, out of my way, out of my way, out of my way, out of my way, out of my bloody way, out of my way, out of my damn way," Arthur suddenly looked up. "Pardon me," he murmured to Ludwig, who raised an eyebrow as they passed. Arthur dressed conspicuously in a black hood today, his hair messy and tousled, his eyes moody and an effective system to ward people off. It was pointless to try and decipher the secretive literature buff.

He descended the stairs and found Isabella, with Elizabeta and Roderich and Lars in a drawing room, sipping at coffee. "Morning," Elizabeta greeted cheerily, and Roderich sighed. "Do pardon her causality," he said, depleted of energy.

"This coffee is exquisite." Lars commented, taking a reverent sip of the chocolatey nectar. "I do hope it works out rather economic to boot," he looked up and studied Ludwig. Ludwig laughed uncertainly, rather uncharacteristically. "I would not know."

Elizabeta sneered. "This is the residence of the reigning monarch of an entire Kingdom, and you think the coffee will be comparatively inexpensive," she sent a look to the equally frugal Roderich, who laughed as well.

Isabella cocked her head to one side. "If it tastes good, I see no qualms with paying extra," She blinked, and Elizabeta snorted, Isabella had been overly cosseted and it was common knowledge she had been indulged more than her elder brother. Elizabeta hailed from completely different circumstances, in spite of her nobility.

"Only the best for you, then," Roderich noted with a liberal dosage of sarcasm, and Isabella rolled her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't want to seem pretentious." 

"Never mind." Ludwig sighed. "Walk with me now." He added, and Isabella extended a hand and he pulled her up. Elizabeta wrinkled up her nose. "Her legs are younger than mine, and I have never relied on you to help me stand up," she said rather audaciously loudly to Roderich who nodded. "In fact, usually it's me helping you up," Elizabeta mused.

Ludwig pressed close to Isabella, who raced to match his pace. "What did you need me for?" He then asked, in an effort to puncture to densely awkward atmosphere. Isabella exhaled, "I just wanted to speak with you. For no reason. Because we have not had the chance to spend time together in a while, if you have more pressing engagements please do not let me hold you back. And there is also the matter of that we marry in three months," she smiled toothily. 

Ludwig said nothing, and the two descended out the back of the castle steps and into the verdant garden. It stretched for miles beneath their overarching view, dappled with maple trees and cherry blossom, and beds of muted specks of colour. Isabella fought to catch her breath, overwhelmed by the beauty.

"We employed a new gardener," Ludwig murmured.

"A well worth investment," Isabella replied, reaching up to stroke the buds of a nearby sunflower, her mouth quirking into a smile. She turned round, her skirts following her pivot a couple of seconds after her frame. 

"You look.." Ludwig struggled for apt articulation. "Very nice," he looked down at his feet and Isabella blushed, and she tried to take his hand and there was an awkward moment of their skin brushing and he jerked away out of instinct and her hand fell back by her side.

"That is kind of you," She said, avoiding eye contact. He gulped and the two set off again.

"Listen, we can go back inside," Isabella hesitated, and Ludwig looked flustered. "If you would prefer," he said, his eyes fixed on his feet.

"No - if you would prefer, it--it's beautiful here." She giggled slightly. Ludwig was a shell of what he had been. With Gilbert living, Ludwig had been more self certain, more daring, more able to speak up. In so short a time he had become this fragile shadow.

"Of course," Ludwig dipped his head, and the two regained their speed as they made their way along the sandy paths of the garden. They stood separated, their relationship made out to be blatantly platonic.

Isabella suddenly gasped. "An apple tree! Oh, Ludwig-" she turned to him and beamed, and he stood aside to let her hurtle off in its direction. She was so delicately unladylike.

"My Lord!" 

Ludwig spun round, and on the floor - cardiac arrest? - was a man with a crop of red hair, - no, not cardiac arrest - hailing him like an idol? Ludwig searched for words before deciding a simple "Please rise," would suffice.

"Good morning, my Lord! It is such a pleasure to see you spending time in the gardens, so lovingly tended to by me. Oh, my Lord, never did I think I would see you here! I am so honoured!" The gardener began his spiel - he had a thick Italian accent, Ludwig looked rather stricken.

"I.. you have done a marvellous job on it - sorry, I do not know your name." He shook his head.

"Romeo! Romeo Vargas at your service!" 

Ludwig didn't respond. Vargas. The surname of the most important noble family in Italy. He shook his head. Common name?

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance." Ludwig dipped his head, and Romeo swooned.

"It was always a dream of mine to cultivate gardens for my monarch, and here I am! I feel so blessed! A hundred thousand thanks!" Romeo paused to catch his breath, and he smiled. 

"You proved proficient," Ludwig nodded, and watched Isabella hurry over to him, biting into a pink tinged apple. "These are wonderful, bitterness balanced out with prevailing sweetness," she said, her cheeks dimpled.

Romeo eyes widened. "Lady Isabella," he murmured, before shaking his head violently and cursing his self. "Pardon me! That was too informal! Please! My Lady!" He blabbered, and Ludwig held his shoulders to stop him from dropping to his knees and worshipping her as well.

Isabella smiled, and shook his hand. "I am honoured to meet you," she said once he had gone through the rigmarole of presenting himself at her service.

"My Lady! It is I who am honoured!" 

All the following day Ludwig could not get the gardener out of his head. He bore such a striking resemblance to.. it didn't matter. It couldn't be. Italy was full of men and full of charmers, and just because two were alike it couldn't possibly mean they were.. related.

The gardener could not possibly be kin to Feliciano.


	5. Of Plots and Feuds

Křivoklát Castle, Czech Republic.

Hedvika paced. Her hair flew out behind her in short ringlets, her eyebrows dipped down near her eyes where they met, a surefire indication of annoyance. She rested her hands on the windowsill, gripped it so tightly she felt like she might be subject to splinters. Then she turned again and flung herself onto her four poster bed.

A sharp knocking sounded at her door. She sat up straight instantaneously, slamming her feet down on the floor.

"Jakub?" Her voice quivered.

"No. Heracles." The voice was low and comforting, but Hedvika was still too much lodged in thought to pick up on it. Heracles did not navigate through life in the fast lane, he was slow and steady. Dependent. A good soul.

"Oh. You may enter." She declared, trying to stop her voice from shaking. She stood up, and brushed off her skirts. Heracles opened the door and let himself in, before bowing his head in respect of her status. "Ivan refuses to release his hold on Hluboká Castle." Hedvika winced at the mention of her previous residence, before Ivan and his military had invaded. She had fled to the North East hastily, without a second glance back at her old beloved Hluboká Castle.

"As expected," Hedvika sighed. She hated the idea that over half of her country, the country she reigned over in a matter of speaking, was under the clench of the tyrant who claimed to be the monarch of the Eastern European Kingdom, the Kingdom Hedvika in law belonged to. But she didn't in her mind. So long had conflict scarred Europe. She remembered the partition of the continent, and winced. The divide was relatively new, rules still unwritten. And yet she felt it was her calling to build a new, fair Kingdom - the Central European Kingdom. An escape for those who despised Ivan as she knew so many did. It was so simple to bow down and acknowledge Ivan, but yet so easy also to refuse his torturous idea of monarchy. 

"I propose that you and Jakub flee this country altogether." Heracles finally uttered, and Hedvika trained her stare onto him. Hedvika furrowed her brow. 

"What about the rebels? I cannot desert my subjects. That would look like complete abdication." Hedvika hammered into Heracles, her advisor, who flinched.

"Every day Ivan steals more of our assets, what keeps this country and Slovakia thriving. The Slovenian nobles agreed to support us, but with a country so small we benefit more in their manpower than we do in their funds. If we go to the West, to Germany I suggest, we can ask for alliance - they hate Ivan and his dynasty as much as us." Heracles explained.

Hedvika hesitated. "Why are you doing this?" She murmured.

Heracles stiffened, and ran his hands through his soft chestnut waves. "Because I care about you - my Lady. And if starting afresh brings you happiness.." he tailed off. "That's not what you meant." He shook his head.

"Why are you making me desert the people, who at least fuel the notion that we could rebel. Why are you making me desert my subjects?" She drew herself up tall and stared at herself in the ornate wall mounted mirror. 

The Greek Lord sighed. "I want Greece to join your new kingdom too." He whispered at last. "In the south of Europe, we get the worst of everything. Ivan never ever allows us a second thought. We are the bane of his Kingdom. I feel you could give us a chance and the only way you have one is if you ally with Ludwig." 

Hedvika opened her mouth and closed it again. "You think?" She uttered, almost like she was giving up. "I'm so weak I have to rely on another monarch." She said, holding on to Heracles' shoulders. He shook his head. "I don't think you know the meaning of weak," Heracles whispered, and detached her hands from himself.

"So you say I and Jakub should go to Ludwig, ask him to cough up some gold, spend it on reinforcements and weaponry, and hope somehow we can thwart Ivan?" Hedvika asked, in a way that a listener could not tell if she was being disparaging or was genuinely intrigued. 

"Precisely." Heracles chuckled anxiously.

"When?" Hedvika said through gritted teeth.

"Presently." Heracles murmured inaudibly.

"I can't do that. I have to make it known to my people I am not abandoning them first," she decided.

"As you wish, ma'am. If you like, I could see to that." Heracles dipped his head obligingly and Hedvika softened, and she shook her head.

"Too impersonal. I will release a statement and leave it to the journalists to do the rest." She decided, and Heracles bit his lip. Hedvika could be artful, but generally was inarticulate.

"Of course." Heracles finished, and opened the door, allowing himself to leave. Hedvika drew herself from her conflicting thoughts and smiled at him in way of dismissal. 

No sooner had he left, Jakub entered. Jakub, her husband. Betrothed as teenagers and scarcely more than teenagers at present. He looked perpetually mousey, with soft fair hair and large eyes and a warm temperament. Hedvika loved him.

"Vika." He wrapped his arms round her waist, and she melted into his touch. She suddenly tugged away and his hands fell to his sides. "Jakub, I cannot deal with this. I have a Kingdom to build." He looked hurt, before smiling slightly. "Do we really have to go?" He asked.

"It should not be for long," she said, more for her sake than for his. He nodded, but he still looked uncertain, and Hedvika felt a tug of sorrow. Jakub was so soft and naive, and she could be so wily and ambitious. He had never asked for this. He had just fallen in love with her and been dragged into her vendetta against Ivan. On the surface, Jakub seemed indifferent, but she knew he hated him too. Point being, he was too anti conflict to act upon his instinct, to rebel. That was where Hedvika felt like she came in.

"If you say so." He whispered and he wanted to envelop her, but she bustled past him, exiting their bedroom. Jakub reached out almost, to try and catch her. This was Hedvika in a nutshell. Always busy, always on some quest of sorts, always up to her ears in authority. And he was left in the dust. He exhaled, and closed the door.

****

Neuschwanstein Castle, Germany.  
Two weeks later.

"My lord, we have received pressed correspondence from-" Basch announced, and Ludwig snatched the letter from his grip, tearing the seal open. Basch stepped back behind the King's desk, his hands behind his back.

"It's from Lady Hedvika," Ludwig murmured, wondering for a fleeting moment if this was perhaps an offer of marriage. But then he came to his senses. He was hardly the heart throb of Europe. 

Ludwig read quickly, before folding the letter and setting it down. "It's not too pressing," he said at last, after a laboured exhalation. "Are you sure, Sir? It.. it struck me as if it required a response imminently." Basch's tone was filled with anxious inflections. 

"I feel as if I need to mull over an adequate response foremost." Ludwig sighed. "You read the letter, then?" He added.

Basch stiffened. "I could not help but see over your shoulder, and as your advisor, I see no reason why I may not have an insight into the current state of affairs with our Eastern counterparts." Ludwig chortled softly. "Of course, Basch. You are not a servant. You are not under my command and never should you feel as though you are. I am simply testing you. You are still so young. One might even say a child." 

"Two years younger than you, my Lord." Basch rolled his eyes, and Ludwig felt the inclination of a smile flicker on his lips. Ludwig picked up the letter and fiddled with it. "I will write back to her soon enough." He decided, and Basch seemed satisfied. 

Just then, the door opened, and Roderich stood in it, panting from the arduous run up the stone castle steps. 

"We have company." Roderich said between chokes, fighting for breath. He was weak in the respiratory department, and generally unfit to boot. 

Basch stood up suddenly, narrowing his eyes, and Ludwig looked concerned.

"It's -- it's Lord Jakub and Lady Hedvika," he paused. "And any number of their noblemen." Basch immediately pulled on his gloves, and straightened out his shirt cuffs. "I will see to them," he said, exchanging a glance with Ludwig, who nodded, before pulling himself to his feet. 

"Elizabeta is already with them. We.. they can stay, can't they?" Roderich asked.

Ludwig stood up slowly, and sighed. "What are they here for? I'm sure it's more than a state visit," he murmured. 

"It's better they tell you themselves.." Roderich's arms flailed as he tried to simultaneously usher the King from the room and fan himself - the room was humid and Roderich was sensitive to heat. He was sensitive to most things for that matter and in fact.

Ludwig descended the staircase in the wake of Roderich, with Basch stepping smartly behind him. In a large comfortable sitting room, on a velveteen couch, looking frightfully like fish out of water, sat Hedvika and Jakub as promised. Hedvika looked immaculate, queenly, in spite of her worried expression. She stood up upon Ludwig's entrance, dipped her head and he extended his gloved hand respectfully. Although he was not her King - as she was of the Eastern European Kingdom, he was still a King, commanding the utmost level of respect. 

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us -- and on such short notice. We are indebted to you. We do realise how awful we must appear, arriving uninvited. But we do have business here." Hedvika said, exchanging a furtive glance with Lord Heracles, who was positioned opposite on another couch. 

Ludwig looked intrigued, but his eyes were somber. "Do not trouble yourself with formalities ," the King said, allowing himself to take a seat in a high backed armchair at the front of the room. 

Hedvika sat down again, and fiddled with her hands. "We come to you in a matter of escaping our livelihood. Ivan is now more than meddlesome. He is oppressive. And we fled. He invaded our lands. In a matter of speaking, they are property of his Kingdom, but Jakub and I are the legal righteous custodians of our Duchies, just as Lord Roderich is of Austria, and Lady Elizabeta is of Hungary. And so we begin our plight for independence. Once upon a time Europe faced a war which split it. We don't want a war. But we wish to divide Europe once more, for better. We want to build a new Kingdom. We have the support of the Greeks, the Slovenians, the Poles and Kaliningrad. We.. We just want to ensure fairness." Hedvika trailed off.

Ludwig didn't react. Elizabeta's eyes widened. "I had no idea how bad things were getting there ever since I in a matter of speaking joined West Europe." She murmured. She was from Hungary, technically an Eastern European state, but after her marriage to Roderich, there was blurred lines surrounding the topic.

"Ivan parades around in a carriage, with his wife who is actually rather agreeable, and he focuses his attention on himself and his sisters, making sure they revel in every luxury. He cares not for his lands once acquired, only the process of acquiring them. The East and the Orients call him a scourge. He has bases in Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan against their nobles' will. He cares only for his Kingdom's expansion and not whether his rule is effective. He is a pathetic excuse for a King." There was a sharp intake of breath in the room at this moment. Nobody ever dared question a King's authority, not really.

Hedvika then stood up, and clasped her hands dynamically. "All we did was ask for more independence in the control of our terrain and he took hold of it. A silent response. We had to move residence, and hand over control to his militants. He treats the Baltics so unfairly. Their nobles are not even allowed to travel from their countries unless he wishes to speak with them. They're more like servants than aristocracy. And the Balkans. My heart aches for them. Lord Vladimir - you must be familiar with him - was in tears because of the treatment of his younger brother. Their lands are starved and reaped of all assets for Ivan's insatiable desire to trade with whomever he can. I don't want that." She finished, and blinked at Ludwig.

"And what say you, Jakub?" Ludwig asked, part of him curious, part of him dubious. 

Jakub inadvertently started shaking. "I.. I second Vika." He said simply, looking as if he would collapse from nerves.

"But can we take your word for it? Surely you could just be here for money." Basch piped up, ever the financial head. Hedvika stared at him.

"We understand. We just.. we wanted your support against Ivan. We planned to push them out of our lands and enforce our militants once more, but they and I'll admit, us, are fearful. We will then meet with Ivan in Russia to speak diplomatically. He cannot refuse diplomacy." Hedvika proposed.

"You must see, Ivan is my colleague in a manner of speaking. These accusations are a lot to digest." Ludwig whispered, leaning forwards towards the impassioned nobles. 

"They need help. They are too close to home." Elizabeta then murmured. "Ivan could attack Hungary too. He would have fuel to light his fire." She said, and Roderich squeezed her hand.

Just then, Isabella entered the room, and looked surprised to see such a reception. "Is.. is this important?" She murmured, and Ludwig nodded wearily.

"She can stay." Lord Basch said coolly, and Isabella hesitantly sat down in a voluminous armchair. Her eyes trained on Ludwig for answers.

"I will have to contemplate this," Ludwig admitted. "But you may stay here for as long as you need," he added, and Hedvika nodded. She sat back in the couch with relief.

"This is all very bold, if I am allowed to put in my two cents," Basch said with a sniff. "If it were me I-"

"Then it is a good job it isn't." Ludwig said firmly, staring up at the young advisor, who had not sat down. Basch fiddled with his long fine blond hair and wrinkled up his nose.


	6. Of Family and Travels

Mikhailovsky Castle, Russia.

Natalya, if she was of less status than she was, would have not faired well in life. She would have been exiled and hidden away and maybe even killed - for her practices. She was keenly invested in magic and sorcery. But as the sister of the King and distant heir to the throne, she was really allowed to do whatever she wanted. In fact, the royal library proved a secret grail of spellbooks.

Today she dresses in deepest violet, tastefully so and yet enchantingly so. Her hair languished around her shoulders, her beautiful hands were enunciated by black gloves. And her arched eyebrows met in the middle as she frowned over her books. 

"Miss Natalya?" A voice sounded from the other side of the door to the library, which was usually empty except for Natalya. The voice was of that of someone who had once been confident and in charge, but had been dashed of that confidence, and filled with anxiety. This perfectly described Tolys Laurinaitis. He was the Duke of Lithuania, but really, servant to Ivan. He worked tirelessly and diligently, when away at Trakai Castle or when directly serving the king at Mikhailovsky. 

"Oh, come in," she grumbled lowly, and the door eased open. She had spread out an array of thickly bound books on a table, and had lighted a candle so she could see. She glanced up.

"Please pardon my interruption," he began softly, slightly overwhelmed as he always was when confronting the mesmerising princess. Natalya shrugged, and returned to her study.

"We have received word from the American Kingdom and I thought you might be interested to know that you and your siblings, together with Lady Felicity, will be visiting them in the United States in the forthcoming days." He said, willing his voice not to quiver. He rested his gaze on the austere princess, leaving himself at her disposal, whether she chose to acknowledge his words or not.

"Thank you, Tolys." She muttered, and he looked surprised. It was common knowledge how Natalya felt about King Alfred of the American Kingdom. She was of age now, and he still eligible, Tolys knew she must have put two and two together. It was increasingly likely that Natalya might become engaged to him.

"Are you not excited?" He probed, putting himself on thin ice. She sent him a disparaging glare. "I have better things to feel than excitement," she said curtly, and Tolys took that as probably his cue to leave.

"Wait, Tolys- my sister is going too?" 

"Yekaterina will attend the trip." 

"Shit," Natalya cursed, and slammed her book shut. Tolys looked taken aback, but quicklyregained composure. "What is it?" He asked, and she sighed emphatically, as if the entire worlds burdens were strapped to her slim shoulders. "They will choose her. If they are going to marry one of us to him, it will be her. She is almost ten years my senior, just older than Alfred. And I am a teenager. And I am as flat as the cover of this book." She said through gritted teeth.

"I hardly think you and Princess Yekaterina's differing chest sizes will be part of the decision." Tolys seemed humoured, but tried to mask it. 

Natalya shrugged. "What do you know? You have no wife. Tolys, don't you care about breasts too?" She asked, snappishly.

Tolys blushed fuchsia. "I.. I.." he stammered, before covering his mouth to avoid emitting a laugh. "It matters not to me." He said at last, and Natalya didn't seem convinced. She was pretty oblivious.

He left presently, and Natalya struggled to concentrate on her study. She promptly left the library, and hurried up the stairs that linked the library's winding catacombs with the interior of the castle. She held up her long, heavy, unwieldy skirts, and pretty well barged past the servants that crossed her path. 

Once she had reached the top levels of the castle, she stopped the first servant she came across. "Excuse me, but where is the King?" She mouthed, and the servant dithered. "King Ivan in his study with Lord Eduard of Estonia," she bobbed her head, her eyes nervous, and Natalya set off again with purpose.

She knocked on his door impatiently, and Ivan asked Eduard to open it. When he did, he made shy eye contact with Natalya, who pushed past him. 

"Good morning, brother." She coughed, and he looked up. His eyes were narrowed, as if he was constantly scrutinising things and weighing them up, as if he could see through her skin like it was transparent and read into her heart. She didn't like it, she never had.

"Good morning, dearest sister." He said vaguely, exhaled, and sat back in his chair, clasping his hands. Eduard stood, forgotten, in the back of the room, blending in surprisingly well with the wall. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? It seems you hardly ever steal from your beloved library to pay your brother a visit," Ivan spoke like he was tasting honey, coiling his tongue around each word, savouring it and speaking slowly. 

Natalya rolled her eyes. "I don't really want to talk to you as such, but I wanted to know the details of our trip to the United States." She grumbled.

"Ah, yes. Well, we depart soon enough. I'm looking forward to having some quality time with my dearest girls. Of course, I will need to attend to work with King Alfred too. But you, all you need to worry about is enjoying your time there, charming the kingdom, being pretty." Ivan smiled, and Natalya nodded. 

"I can do that," she affirmed, and Ivan grinned, taking a long sip from his large tea cup. Natalya bet Castle Kremlin that most of the contents of the tea cup was of an alcoholic quality, that was just Ivan's style. "Good, good. Prince Matthew has been quoted saying he is excited to see you." Natalya groaned. Prince Matthew was the shadow of his just-older brother, King Alfred. He was polite and nervous and made Natalya's head hurt. She'd been known to say that he had no gumption.

"But really, brother, why are we visiting them?" She queried, and heard the door open and close behind her, and Eduard scuttle out. Ivan clasped his large hands together. "For matters of diplomacy, my sweet." He explained and Natalya narrowed her eyes back at him. "Don't call me that," she said, as she let herself out of the study.

"You know if you weren't my sister you'd be my bride!" Ivan called out from the study and Natalya felt a chill run down her spine. Ivan was a strange man. She remembered him as a child, so imaginative and gentle, but unaware of his strength. Like the time old character cliche, he loved animals, but the slightest of his touches was enough to fell a small rodent in one blow. He had never meant to, and in light of the siblings' parents' tragic deaths, the advisors who had looked after the trio had told him repeatedly, each time he tried to pick up a rabbit and killed it, that there was no room in the world for 'Children who couldn't play nicely,'

Ivan had been melded into this two faced - in the most literal sense of the phrase - creature. On the one hand, he had never been taught what was right, and had his clouded judgement to guide him. On the other, he had been taught very clearly what was wrong, and he knew that what was wrong was generally easy, and generally got him what he wanted. All he wanted was to reinforce his Kingdom, his Kingdom that could perhaps be dismantled so easily if just one of his pawns stole away from his control.


End file.
